


and when the seasons change, will you stand by me?

by vhixc



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Failed Attempts at Humour, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, My First Fanfic, Pining, Protective Peter Parker, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, peter really loves wade ok, pls be patient & kind if possible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:49:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22206634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vhixc/pseuds/vhixc
Summary: “I fucked up, Pete.”Peter couldn’t muster up the words to respond. His eyes soaked up the image of the man in front of him: one who seemed resigned, defeated— tired to his bones in a way a good night’s sleep just wouldn’t fix.a short story of mistakes, choices and second chances.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 219





	and when the seasons change, will you stand by me?

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'mind over matter' by young the giant  
> a few things before you start  
> 1\. this is **not** an underage/jailbait/teen/high school!peter work. i had no specific actor in mind while writing (that's up to you as a reader) but i just wanted to make that clear;  
> 2\. peter is in his early to mid 20s in this fic. wade is in his early to mid 30s;  
> 3\. english is not my first language and i had no betas or any kind of ""help"" so if you find any mistakes, feel free to let me know (im really open to criticism)

Something felt wrong from the moment the sky darkened completely. 'Off' was a good way to describe the uneasy feeling in his gut that made the young man want to scratch his skin raw. If asked, Peter would blame it on a bad take out choice from two nights ago though that wasn’t the whole truth. No, that one was safe in a big box labeled "let’s not open this right now" at the back of his mind. One he occasionally filled with thoughts he’d been working on for the past year and a half, to no avail. In simpler terms, Peter missed his friend. He couldn't recall another time Wade left him to patrol on his own for so long without any explanation. No calls, no texts, no dropping by uninvited with bags of food. Nothing.

That was almost a week ago. Each passing hour with no sign of the former mercenary had Peter crawling the walls, so to speak. Calls went straight to voicemail, texts were left unanswered. In the first two days, Peter searched his memory for any indication that Wade hadn't been doing so great the last time they saw each other. In two years of friendship, he learned the hard way that there were times Wade simply needed to be left alone to face whatever ghost decided to haunt him. Peter was always there for the aftermath. From day three to five, he went full stalker. Unapologetically so. The night of day three after patrol, Peter went straight to Wade's apartment, only to find it empty and dark. He snuck in through the window, going into every room, none with any clues as to where the man could be. The fridge was empty, the dishes were left dirty in the sink. Peter went as far as to check the shower, which was dry as a bone, and while Wade's hygiene was sometimes lacking, this was completely out of the ordinary. The following two days, he nested on a rooftop across the street from Wade's place, carefully waiting for any sign of life in the apartment. Again, nothing.

Pushing those thoughts aside, the hero carried on swinging from building to building, counting down the hours and quietly thanking whatever higher power he could think of for the tranquility of the night. He fulfilled his duties with ease: a couple of minor robbery attempts and a failed kidnapping of a young girl that left him with a nasty bruise on his ribs. Tired, sad and with a paper due in a few days, Spider-Man called it a night. That was the end of day six and the beginning of yet another restless night of barely any sleep.

On the evening of day seven, Peter decided to stop by Wade's apartment after finishing his hours at the Stark Industries biochem lab. He promised himself that was his last attempt before going for something more drastic. Did he know what that drastic next step was? No. The fear of lack of support was something he didn't want to deal with. Even after his reform and consequent rebranding, Deadpool wasn't particularly beloved or embraced by the masked community— something that deeply annoyed Peter and caused more than a couple of heated debates between him and the rest of the Avengers.

Using the key Wade had given him a year before, Peter let himself inside the building, going up the stairs as carefully as his nerves allowed him. His heart was in his throat, and the young man tried to focus on his surroundings to keep his brain too busy to go haywire. The building was old, on the bad side of 'a little dirty', and it seemed like the tenants were a weird, low budget version of every uncle in the Addams family. Everybody kept it to themselves though, which was a plus given the likelihood of their familiarity with the 'don't go there' side of craigslist. Three doors down, Peter's gut felt queasy. Two doors down, the sweat was uncomfortable in his palms. One door down, his heartbeat was the only thing he could hear. Standing in front of apartment 3B, Peter breathed in deeply, forcing every nerve in his body to calm down. His shaky hands grabbed and twisted the cold key and with a tight hold on the doorknob, Peter was inside.

The first thing Peter felt was a wind stream. The young man's heartbeat spiked at that— he knew for a fact he shut the windows when he left the night before. Feeling the hope growing in his chest, Peter walked towards the living room and there, sitting on the couch with his unmasked face buried in gloved hands, was the source of his every thought for the past 168 hours. There was a heavy-looking duffel bag on the coffee table, and it looked like the apartment had been cleaned of any evidence anyone had lived there, much less a man like the one sitting with his back turned to Peter.

Wade didn't even look up.

“I fucked up, Pete.”

Peter couldn’t muster up the words to respond. His eyes soaked up the image of the man in front of him: one who seemed resigned, defeated— tired to his bones in a way a good night’s sleep just wouldn’t fix. Peter struggled to keep his breathing even.

“And I know you’re probably gonna hate me for it. I made my peace with that, baby boy. Said my hail marys and everything.” Wade raised his head and lowered his hands, resting his elbows on his thighs. Even through the thick leather of his suit, Peter could see the stiffness in his shoulders and the strain on his scarred neck.

“Wade…” Peter whispered, taking a careful step towards the other man.

Wade's jaw looked clenched enough to break. “But see, there are lines, Spidey. Lines you don’t fuckin’ cross. Wanna cut off my arms, my legs? Be my fucking guest, I’m rolling out of here like the barrel the dude from that Chavo sitcom lived in and it’s all dandy, no problemo— I don’t care. But not my kid. Not my _fucking_ kid. So, yeah. I killed the guy. I killed him and I enjoyed it. I thoroughly enjoyed ripping his guts apart, literally and figuratively. No take backsies, Pete. It was good while it lasted.”

“Shit, Pool,” Peter whispered as he looked down, rubbing his temples. At the muted sound of heavy boots hitting the carpet, he looked up, seeing Wade walking towards the front door. “So you’re just gonna walk out?”

Wade stopped and turned to face him. “That was the deal, right? I kill anyone, I’m out.” His voice was as small as Peter felt, and the fact that Wade refused to meet his eyes did not go unnoticed.

Peter frowned at the man's words, feeling weirdly offended. “Yeah, Wade. A deal we made back when we first met and in the days you made sure anyone who paid the right price had whoever they wanted gone with a sword through them.”

That got Peter a humorless laugh and a headshake from Wade. “Don’t tell me I managed to break your moral compass.”

Peter closed his eyes, “Wade—”

“‘Cause if I did, we have a serious problem in our hands. Like, ‘call the UN, this is a global crisis’ bad. ‘Overthrowing a democratically elected government in a developing nation to uphold U.S interests’ bad. ‘Obama dropping more bombs than any other president’ bad. ‘Epstein didn’t kill himself’ bad—”

“ _Can you stop for two seconds?_ ” Peter shouted, causing an ugly silence to spread through the apartment. His heart raced in his chest and the extremities of his body were ice cold. Wade shook his head to himself once more and looked down, waiting for Peter to collect himself enough to be able to speak. Visibly shaken, the young man ran his hands through his hair, making it matted down due to the sweat from his palms. Both their ears adjusted as the open windows allowed the city's noises to spill inside effortlessly: car honks and loud chatter becoming louder by the second. After what seemed like an eternity, Peter finally gathered the courage to look his best friend in the eyes, brown facing blue.

"Tell me what happened."

The request was simple in theory but it looked as if Wade was physically pained by complying. He walked back to the small couch, throwing his body carelessly while still leaving room for Peter. Wade fumbled with his fingers and pointedly avoided any eye contact as he said, "Are you ready for this bedtime story, little red riding spider?"

"Enlighten me," Peter responded.

Wade nodded and gestured carelessly, "You see, little one," he started. "there once was this gorgeous Canadian fellow. Jaw-dropping, he was. Blond hair, blue eyes, large penis. All the Ryans in the land felt intimidated by his good looks and charm. He had dreams of seizing the means of production and redistribution of wealth but unfortunately, he had to join the army to feed himself when his dad kicked him out. He was good there, the most skilled of all the warriors, I tell ya!" The more the story progressed, the more theatrical Wade's mannerisms got. Peter couldn't keep the small smile from his lips, even though he knew some of the gruesome parts of the past turned into tale. "He made it to the group of the best and stayed there for many years until it was time to part ways. He left, got a good shitty life with shitty good friends and 24/7 access to Buck a Beer in the sleaziest bar around. Very little to complain about."

“And then boom, cancer. Multiple ones, at that. A bummer, right? Don't get the tissues yet, children. This is just another story of the miracles of unlicensed and _very_ experimental western cuckoo medicine with a teaspoon of medieval torture. After that, our not so good Canadian dropped the good looks and the charm turned into fuckin' craaazy balls. But it's like Oprah said, show me a tragedy and a lunatic mercenary's barging in guns a'blazing. Our soon to be hero did the nasty for a long time. Kill for pay, really made a name for himself up until the friendly neighborhood spidey decided to take him under one of his long, toned spider legs. Oh, kids, that was life changing." Peter's eyes crinkled at the dreamy tone in Wade's voice. "The crazy man started to do good, you know? And then boom again, he found out a one night stand from exactly 2.198 days ago resulted in a beautiful fertilized egg called Ellie." Wade paused for a moment. "He couldn't believe something so beautiful came from him. He met the little girl, a spitfire just like him, and smart too. The cleverest little thing he'd ever seen and fucking funny. So much better than other kids, no snot around. And for the first time in his life, everything seemed in place. Right up 'til a group of bad, bad men decided to tempt fate and toy with one of the two best things that ever happened to him."

"They decided they wanted to take Ellie and ask for an astronomical amount of money. Fools, Webs. Fools. I should be offended, honestly. It's like they thought I'd sit around with my thumb up my ass on the floor crying just 'cause I'm besties with an avenger. No, no. That's not how this daddy rolls. So I did what I do best and I tracked them down to make them meet their maker. Funny thing is, when I got there, I did one of ‘em in and then I couldn’t do it anymore. Kicked their asses, though. Then I texted agent/avenger Blip Carton ‘cause he owed me one. Got some clean up done and took them to SHIELD, most of their limbs accounted for.”

"The little princess was safe. Scared, but safe. I took her back home. She's a lot tougher than she should be." The air in the room felt so heavy it weighed Peter's shoulders down. He wanted to cry, to scream the building down, wanted to bring the men back to life just so he could beat them to a pulp himself. Wanted to hold Wade, wanted to give him love so badly he'd feel it seeping into his scarred pores. Peter wanted and wanted, and in the end, he did nothing. 

"I shouldn't have gotten close to her in the first place." 

The vile words cut through Peter's haze. "Wade," he put as much conviction as he could into his words. "This is not your fault." 

Wade laughed loudly and with not a trace of humor in it. "Whose fault do you think it is, Peter? Honestly." 

"The men who took her, Wade. They're responsible for what happened, not you." 

At Peter's response, Wade dropped the act. 

"Who put her in harm's way, Peter? Who knows people as fucked up as a group of grown men who'd take a _child_ for cash? Not her fuckin’ white picket fence family, that's for fucking sure." He damn near spat the words out. 

Knowing exactly how stubborn Wade could be once he set his mind to it, Peter stopped talking for a second. He turned fully to face the other man, moving closer to him and grabbing his face in his hands. “Hey,” Peter whispered, “look at me.” Wade’s eyes met his.

A million words hung in the space between them. There was baggage there— an amount both men openly accepted when their partnership began so many long ago. Things that only served to further deepen the bond they shared. It was a kind of trust that could only be achieved after countless times risking their lives together and sharing the ugliest and most secretive parts of their beings. Peter knew this, knew that his response had enough power to determine how not only Deadpool, but how the two of them would deal with this moving forward. 

“I don’t have kids.” Peter started.

“That’s a given, the jury on your virginity is still out.”

“I don’t have kids,” He repeated louder, taking a deep breath, “I can’t imagine how that must’ve felt for you.” Wade lowered his gaze at that. “And I’m proud of you for pulling back and getting help. That was a really good move, Wade. You did good.” 

The seriousness in Wade was something Peter had only seen a handful of times and most of them involved conversations that were now ingrained into his consciousness. He could still remember almost word for word the first time their talks went from jokingly discussing favorite movies and making fun of other masks to him confessing his feelings of guilt over Uncle Ben and Gwen. It was a night that started like any other for them: take out on a comfortably located rooftop post patrol and easy laughs in between easier jokes. He could remember vividly the warm feeling that spread in his chest, fuzzy and cozy, pushing him to trust Wade more and more every time they worked together. Opening up felt natural to him, and having Wade trusting him enough to do the same made him more emotional then he could say and in counterpart, hearing about Weapon X broke something in him. That opened a door then, which led them to talk about loss, grief and trauma— all of the things that made both men toss and turn restlessly in bed at cursed hours in the AM. And when Peter came to his senses, the Sun was starting to rise and shed its light across the New York City skyline.

“This empathy thing is hard, sweet cheeks,” Wade’s weak attempt at joking was damn near transparent, “I’m thinking ‘bout retiring. Maybe moving to a tropical paradise to live off of coconut water and the pleasures of the flesh.”

“You’d get bored in a week.”

“Not if I take my spidey plushies with me. I have many flavors to keep me entertained.”

“I’m pretty sure you’d miss the real deal way too much to stay away.” Peter grinned, getting a scoff and a smirk from Wade. “And you’re right.” The older man gave him a question glance. “It _is_ hard. Empathy is not a talent, Wade. It takes practice. It’s not something that just comes naturally and it’s easy to forget in tough situations. In our line of work, we see a lot of messed up stuff and yeah, it’s hard sometimes. Hard to remember that a murderer is still a human being who deserves a second chance. That even though rapists belong to the deepest pits of hell, we’re not the ones to send them there.” 

“You have a lot of faith in the system, Webs.”

Peter nodded, “yeah. Probably more than I should. The point is you gotta practice, man. Every time you’re taking down a bad guy, no matter where they are in the badness scale, remember that at the end of the day, we’re not superior dudes just ‘cause our lives turned out different.” 

Wade scoffed, “Definitely not me.”

“Not me either. Or any of the avengers. There’s no room for pedestals for heroes around here, Wade. We’re all just people and the least we can do is our best.”

Wade paused for a moment, “Do you seriously believe putting people in prisons in gonna solve anything?” 

“Honestly? Not really. But what’s the alternative? We either let ‘em go or we pull the trigger. We’re masks, Wade. We’re not exactly in a position to change the system on our own.” There was a particular tiredness in Peter, from his voice to his eyes. It was clear this was something that made him lose his sleep before, “I wanted to, once. Didn’t pan out. But what I _can_ do is make sure the people are safe.”

“Some people are bred different, I guess,” Wade scratched his cheek absentmindedly, “y’know, like some people are born being able to _do_ stuff? I tried to eat legos, right? That plus my old man’s unique way of showing love, I’m sure there’s somethin’ up here,” he pointed to his temple, “that ain’t working right.”

“I don’t believe that,” Peter tried to put as much affection in his voice as possible, “we’ve been fighting side by side for the past two years, Wade. I talked to you about shit I never talked about with anyone else. I trusted you with my identity, my home, my family. You think I’d do that with just anyone? Let alone someone who ‘ain’t working right’? Believe me, man, one day I’m gonna get this through your thick skull: you’re a hero, Wade. You’re _my_ hero, and I’m gonna keep believing in you.”

Something in Wade snapped right in front of Peter’s eyes. The man engulfed him in a tight hug, stealing the air from Peter’s lungs in the most loving of chokeholds. The position was uncomfortable given the small couch, but neither of them seemed to want to move. Peter hugged back just as tightly, feeling shaky muscles under his arms as Wade cried the stress of the past week. Knowing him, Peter could only imagine what worst case scenario the voices exploited and made seem like reality in Wade’s head. Rejection, disgust, hate. Things Peter _knew_ deep in his soul he could never feel for him. That on top of the guilt over Ellie’s abduction, very few people would have been able to withstand that amount of stress without snapping. He’d always known the strength in Wade, what with his family situation, the military, cancer, Weapon X, the pain due to his scars… Peter was constantly amazed by the power in the man he found his heart yearning for. He’d sit there as long as he could.

“Y’know,” Wade pulled away and sniffed, “I almost wanna question your sanity, baby boy, but I’m not about to look a gift spidey in the underbelly.”

Peter _had_ to throw his head back and laugh.

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Baby, we are in the same sentence, that’s how close we are.” Wade’s leer made Peter want to scream in joy. 

“ _Okay,_ ” Peter laughed, moving his hand to cup Wade’s jaw, startling the man, “I meant what I said,” The contrast of soft skin against rough scars had a shiver going down both their spines, “Everything I said, Wade, I meant it,”

“Pete, I—”

“Just kiss me, Wade,” Peter’s breathy laugh warmed his own hand, “Kiss me,” he whispered again.

Wade complied with a pained gasp, meeting his lips with the same amount of desperation Peter himself accumulated all this time. Years of flirting, fighting together, unraveling layers of one another to finally have this. They were too pent up for it to not be messy— tongues, teeth and lips meeting in a heated, wet mess that felt so _deliciously right_. Peter was ready to start crying right there and then. 

Wade pulled him into his lap, hands roaming freely over the younger man’s body, gripping toned thighs and softly cupping his neck— the combination went straight to Peter’s dick. He groaned when Wade’s big arms wrapped tightly around his waist, earning a chuckle from him as the man moved from his lips to his neck, sucking a dark bruise. Peter’s body started moving according to his desires with no permission from his brain. He moved his hips, brushing his erection against Wade’s, who threw his head back with a groan.

Taking advantage of Wade’s new position, Peter leaned forward, exploring the scarred neck with his mouth— licking, biting and sucking the flesh that tasted so _good_ , and each time Wade rewarded him with tiny moans and groans, Peter’s hips moved against his will. He felt like a damn teenager and he never wanted to stop.

“W-wait, Pete,” Wade put a little space between them. He chuckled when Peter groaned in response to them stopping, “Easy, easy.”

“Why are we stopping?” Peter’s own voice was almost unrecognizable to his own ears; he could only imagine what he looked like. Messy hair, flushed cheeks, swollen lips. Completely disheveled and enjoying every second of it. 

“Peter…” Wade shook his head in what seemed like disbelief, “you gotta know what you’re getting yourself into. I-I can’t do this as a onetime thing, baby boy. I can’t. Not with you.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile, “Good. Me neither.”

“Are you _sure_? I’m not exactly GQ material, babe.”

He moved his hands to stroke Wade’s cheeks, “Wade, I’ve been in love with you for a year. When I tell you I’m sure, I’m _sure_.”

“For real, Pete?” Wade whispered in awe, scared to touch Peter as if the young man would turn to dust under his fingertips.

“ _Yes_ , Wade. For real. I wouldn’t lie, not about this.

The smile he got in response was so bright and blinding. Wade’s hand held his neck carefully, delicately, as his lips brushed against Peter’s ever so softly. “I love you so fucking much.” Peter smiled in the kiss, resting his forehead against Wade’s.

Whatever they had to deal with, they’d do it in the morning.


End file.
